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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29479968">Draw a Dead Man's Hand</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bioluminescent/pseuds/Bioluminescent'>Bioluminescent</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Critical Role (Web Series), UnDeadwood (Web Series)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canon-Typical Violence, Crossover, Gen, Magic, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Supernatural Elements, UnDeadwood Mini-series (Critical Role), this is definitely a cat right?</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 22:41:24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>10,597</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29479968</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bioluminescent/pseuds/Bioluminescent</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Deadwood is no stranger to folks wandering through town, but this latest group might be a bit suspicious for their liking.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>33</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>81</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Strangers</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I have fallen back deep into Undeadwood, and decided to post this old thing from my drafts. </p>
<p>Unbetaed, all mistakes are my own.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It’s a cool autumn evening -- the kind where the wind scrapes impatiently against walls and clothes, biting where it can, hinting at the winter to come with all the subtly of a fist to the jaw -- when the Strangers arrive.</p>
<p>The first comes alone, with not even a horse to accompany him. A wide brimmed hat pulled low over his eyes against the glare of the setting sun, and a long leather duster over worn trousers and boots. The hat is not enough to hide the streak of scar tissue bisecting one strong eyebrow and kissing the crease of an eye. More than one woman on the street gives him a second look when they catch a glimpse of his eyes. </p>
<p>Deep gold, glimmering warm and brown in a handsome face is enough for people to take notice of a stranger. </p>
<p>(like cat’s eyes, some folks whisper to each other, behind hands, behind fans, muttered against the rim of a bottle)</p>
<p>Metal gleams in the folds of his jacket as he walks, a heavy pistol riding his hip, gaining the attention of more than a few of the men in town. </p>
<p>Aloysius keeps an eye on the young fella as he makes his way down the thoroughfare, watching as he wanders through the front doors of the hotel. When the stranger does not exit, he nods to himself and stands, picking up his bottle before making his own way to his rooms.</p>
<p>The next morning two more come together, after a man falls dead in the street with a hole in his chest. </p>
<p>Just after finishing his morning sermon to the few who came, Reverend Mason steps onto the newly repaired stairs of the church to bid farewells and watches as a dusty pair of travellers walk out from behind the corner.</p>
<p>He almost calls out in greeting, but the sight of an extremely tall, lanky man -- taller even, than himself -- stooping down to catch the giggling words of his companion as she tugs on his arm where her hand is delicately tucked, catches him completely off guard. She points down the thoroughfare, her brightly colored travel pack bouncing on her back, her skirts swirling about her ankles in fine cloth and beads, and Matthew takes a moment to wonder how on earth a woman like that could walk to town in heels.</p>
<p>The tall man manages to catch his hesitation, and smiles gently at him before saying something in a low voice to the woman at his side. She immediately perks up at his words, her head snapping around toward Matthew, dark curls bouncing cheerfully around her face, and she begins to tug her companion to the front of the church.</p>
<p>“Hello!”</p>
<p>Almost against his will, he can feel his eyebrows begin to creep up his forehead at her vibrant and foreign accent. Nevertheless, the Lord bid that all strangers be welcome to His home with open arms, and so he shall be bid.</p>
<p>Tilting his head down in a polite nod, Matthew steps into the dust of the road with a faint puff around his boot and smiles at her. “Hello, my children. Was your journey well?”</p>
<p>She grins at him, open in her excitement in a way that almost makes him feel uncomfortable, “It was! We had such a nice walk after our horse died, and we even saw a fox and some ravens!”</p>
<p>He blinks. “I am sorry to hear of your loss, but I am relieved that you were able to continue your way safely into town.”</p>
<p>“Yes, it was really cool. But anyways, is there anywhere neat here that we should go see first? Like maybe a hotel, or maybe a saloon, or something?” The woman bounces on her toes as she speaks, her curls and skirts bouncing with her, and the arm she is clinging to stays still. </p>
<p>“I do believe that if you are wanting a place to rest, the Bullock Hotel just down the street should do well for a few nights.” He points to the building and she turns, nodding, her curls still bouncing when she turns back to him. “Are you two intending to spend very long here, if I may ask?”</p>
<p>The man takes a look at the church behind where he stands, and breathes in deeply, the woman on his arm clutching at his sleeve as she glances up at him. He breathes out slow, eyes closed, before he smiles and looks at Matthew. </p>
<p>“Yeah,” The deep rumble of his voice startles Matthew just as much as his stature did, and it echoes around in his chest, seeming to echo in the dirt at their feet and the wood in the stairs and the beads of his rosary looped around the hand clutching at his book. “Yeah, I think that’d be real nice.”</p>
<p>She giggles at his words, resting her head on his arm, “It seems like a nice town doesn’t it?”</p>
<p>Matthew looks past her to the cooling body of a dead man being dragged to an alleyway, blood mixing with dust into a tacky trail on the main road, and back to her only to find her completely serious.</p>
<p>“Yes, a nice town.” She seems amused by his uncertainty and giggles again. “Oh, I am very sorry for my absentmindedness, but would you tell me your names? I am Reverend Mason, if you have a need of me.”</p>
<p>She gasps, her mouth a pretty round O of delight, a gloved hand resting on her lip. “How rude of us! I’m Mrs. Jessabelle Clay, and this is my husband, Mr. Caduceus Clay.”</p>
<p>Mr. Clay looks down at her and smiles, amusement crinkling the corners of his eyes, and he nods. “Indeed. Mr. and Mrs. Clay, Reverend. It was a pleasure.”</p>
<p>He reaches out a hand, waiting with a patient smile as the Reverend juggles his bible and rosary to the other hand, and he shakes Mr. Clay’s hand. It is not often that he is dwarfed by the size of another man, but even Mr. Clay’s hand is longer and larger than his own. He is given a firm handshake, quick enough for him to feel the callouses on the other man’s hand, but nothing more.</p>
<p>As they withdraw, Mrs. Clay giggles, her gaze settled somewhere to one back corner of the church, “Well, we’re just going to be off to the hotel that you recommended, Reverend.”</p>
<p>He nods them farewell and they depart, a striking pair in his height and her finery. </p>
<p>A chuff of boot against dirt behind him warns him of the presence of Clayton, and he turns to his friend with a smile. </p>
<p>“What’re you smiling at? We’re gonna be late for lunch because you wanted to talk to people.” One edge of mustache rises in a sneer as they turn down the thoroughfare.</p>
<p>“Just because you have no desire to mingle, does not mean that I can leave my duties remiss, my friend.” Matthew chuckles as Clayton’s sneer only grows.</p>
<p>Ahead of them, he catches a glimpse of Mrs. Clay’s skirts whirling in the closing doors of the hotel. </p>
<p>Clayton follows his gaze and his eyebrows lower into his customary glare. “I don’t trust them.”</p>
<p>A laugh catches in his throat, “You don’t trust anyone.”</p>
<p>All the answer he gets is a sidelong look, the weight of intent behind it stiffening his shoulders in response, but they are stepping into the saloon, signalling the end of their conversation for now.</p>
<p>Three more come the day after.</p>
<p>This group causes more whispers than most, with one man and two women, both who look rough, worn, and calloused. </p>
<p>Miriam watches with raised eyebrows next to Aly on the front porch of the Gem Saloon, as the trio walks by. The shorter woman stalks forward in the lead with harsh steps, skirts swirling, the man and tall woman following behind comfortably. </p>
<p>Aly glances at her from his seat, a smirk crawling up his face, “You got something you wanna say to them?”</p>
<p>His low chuckle follows her as she huffs in annoyance and steps off the porch, making her way closer to the small group in graceful steps. Almost immediately the largest woman, striking in her imposing figure and different colored eyes, makes eye contact with her and subtly places herself between Miriam and her companions. </p>
<p>As her hand brushes against the forearm of the man, he ducks his head and nudges at the other woman with an elbow, hissing something at her that Miriam cannot catch in the morning crowds. The second woman grunts at him and glares around him towards her, eyes sharp and cutting as they meet her own. </p>
<p>She smiles and dips her head in an attempt to set them at ease. “I, ah, apologize, but I was wondering if you might be able to help me with something at the moment? I understand if you lot are busy, but, if you are all willing?”</p>
<p>The trio clusters together and look at her for a moment in silence before the man takes a step around the largest woman. He is pretty, she notes, as the red in his hair catches the morning sun and making it gleam like firelight. Blue eyes meet hers, and she smiles gently again, watching as the tension in his face eases just slightly.</p>
<p>“Ja, what was it that you wanted?”</p>
<p>Foreign accent and bandages around his hands, entirely up his forearms given the way they disappear into his coat sleeves. Interesting.</p>
<p>She titters. “Oh, I was just wondering which town you all had come from, and if there might be any news?”</p>
<p>The shorter woman dressed in a working skirt and blue jacket snorts and crosses her arms. “News of what.”</p>
<p>“Well, you see, I’m from Cheyenne, and my husband sent me ahead to see about some business ventures we may get here, and there was some trouble in the streets there last I knew. Any information you have would be helpful, even if it’s not any information at all.”</p>
<p>A neat eyebrow rises in disbelief. Blue eyes slide over to the Gem Saloon and the woman nods, rolling her eyes. “Husband, huh? Seems like you were pretty chummy with that guy over there. Does your husband know?” The woman neatly dodges another elbow from the man, not moving her gaze from Miriam. </p>
<p>Miriam smiles again, and this time she allows it to be sharper than usual. “My husband knows what he wants to know. And I would advise not to travel in such a conspicuous group again unless you want undo attention in this town. It would not be, unwarranted, you see, for some here to wish any of you harm.” She turns her gaze to the man standing in the front and looks at him for a moment, letting her gaze linger.</p>
<p>When the tall woman stiffens, she moves her gaze back to the darker one and winks. She leaves with the sound of a loud scoff at her back and the quiet scolding of the man to the woman.</p>
<p>Aly watches from where he has not moved, although he is casually resting one hand near his pistol. He waits for her to enter the saloon before following a few minutes after and settling down at the table she claimed. Reaching for the shot she had poured for him, he nods in her direction and tosses it down.</p>
<p>“So,” he sighs at the burn of alcohol, placing the glass back on the table and leaning forward to grab at the bottle, “anything interesting about the new folks?”</p>
<p>“Gossiping already Aloysius? Scandalous.” She smiles into her glass as he laughs, the ladies upstairs tittering down at him from where they survey the saloon.</p>
<p>She waits until they have both had some more to drink and the noise in the saloon rises enough to fairly cover her words.</p>
<p>“Very strange, for three strangers to walk into town with no weapons, isn’t it, Aloysius?”</p>
<p>In the dark of the night, unseen by anyone except a crow on the graveyard fence, the last slips into town.</p>
<p>A horse whinnies at the moving shadows, and is calmed by a quiet hushing and a sugar cube pressed against soft lips. </p>
<p>Quick darting steps and yellow glowing eyes that cannot be hidden during the day, she skitters from shadow to shadow, making her slow and careful way down the street until she is pressed against the outer wall of the hotel.</p>
<p>Claws score rotting wood deeply as she scrambles up onto the roof, slinking around until she is in position and a window creaks open below her.</p>
<p>Her cloak billows in the breeze that rushes through town, and she hisses quietly at its bite before she is safe in the room, the window sliding shut behind her.</p>
<p>The moon continues its path across the night sky, trudging from one end to the other as the denizens of Deadwood settle and shift. A low fog rolls in on the next wind, thick in the air, plucking at the corners of the buildings and curling gently around the few lit lanterns. Off in the distance a cat shrieks in triumph at the hunt, the noise muffled as it hits the fog.</p>
<p>Early morning sun reaches down and begins to chase away the chill of the night. Light folds around wisps of mist like the hand of a newborn babe on the offered finger of an adult. Soon, the fog is either burned away or it disappears from where it came, and people slink out into the streets, hungover and hungry.</p>
<p>No one is woken that morning by gunshots or screams. Only the sun.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Communion</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The night is loud and raucous, laughter bouncing around the room as dice rattle on the table.</p><p>Clayton Sharpe watches his group of companions from his chair near the wall, and absentmindedly swirls the whiskey in his glass.</p><p>Cheers from the table signal the end of the round, Arabella triumphantly displaying her hand amidst the groans of Aloysius and the smirk from Miriam. Matthew only sighs and shakes his head, a smile crinkling the scar on his cheek.</p><p>He tosses back the rest of his drink and savors the burn. The group looks toward him as he places his glass down, standing from his seat and approaching them.</p><p>“I think it’s about time we discussed the new folk in town, don’t you?”</p><p>Miriam nods, already folding her hands in her lap, settling her gaze on his face expectantly, the others following her lead.</p><p>Uncomfortable at the undivided attention, he clears his throat and pulls his chair to the table. “I don’t trust any of them.”</p><p>A warm chuckle from Miriam. “Honey, you don’t trust anyone, we’re not surprised.”</p><p>“Perhaps, but is there any reason why you are so quick to distrust this collection in particular? I mean, unless the others have information saying otherwise,” Matthew gestures to Arabella and Aly. “It doesn’t seem as if they are even a group, they might just have bad timing to all come into town successively.”</p><p>One eyebrow rises, and Arabella looks down at the cards on the table. “Well, I wouldn’t be too sure about that, Reverend.” She glances around at the others from under her eyelashes, a faint flush on her cheeks. “I did see the first one, Franklin, I think? He was getting mighty friendly with Mrs. Clay outside the saloon the other night.” She hesitates. “And before you go on saying something, she was receptive to his advances.”</p><p>That draws a few looks around the table. </p><p>Aly hums thoughtfully, swirling his drink, “Now that is interesting to know. ‘Specially considering how cozy the Clays were getting the other morning when they went to the general store together.”</p><p>Watching Matthew worry at his lip with his teeth from his seat, Clayton kicks him under the table, earning himself a hard glare that he smirks at.</p><p>Huffing, Matthew shakes his head. “From what little I’ve spoken to the two, they do seem friendly with each other at the very least.”</p><p>“You can be friendly and still not be satisfied, dearest.” Miriam’s knowing look brings a blush to the reverend’s cheeks.</p><p>Anything else that might have been said is interrupted with the door of the saloon swinging open to admit a small group. The prickly woman dressed in blues stalks in, glaring at anyone who makes eye contact with her, and she approaches the bar, leaving her compatriots to find a table. Mrs. Clay giggles, tugging the red-headed man with her to an empty table not far from where they are sitting. </p><p>She pushes him down into a seat and sits in her own, scooching it closer until their shoulders brush, dragging another over with her foot for their friend as she returns with two bottles and several glasses. One bottle is slammed down in front of Mrs. Clay, who immediately wraps her hands around it, and the glasses clatter to the table loudly.</p><p>Conversation in the saloon soon picks back up, but not enough to mask the sounds of the trios voices.</p><p>The man is surprisingly the first to speak, in a quiet voice that Clayton has to strain to hear. “Really Beauregard? It is a bit early, don’t you think?” </p><p>Beauregard snorts into her glass, “If you knew how early the rest of these fuckers started drinking you wouldn’t be saying that Caleb. Besides,” she leans back and throws one arm into the air, “it’s not like there’s much else in this fucking town to do.”</p><p>Mrs. Clay giggles and nods, “Yeah, Caleb! Unless you, you know.” And wiggles her eyebrows suggestively in a way that leaves Clayton dumbfounded.</p><p>Clearly used to his friend's antics, Caleb only chuckles and pulls out a book and sheet of paper from his jacket, laying them on the table. Soon, the three of them have tucked their heads together, muttering too quietly between them for anyone else to hear. Every now and then, one of them points between the sheet and one of the two notebooks, Mrs. Clay having pulled her own out soon after.</p><p>“Wonder what that’s all about then.” Aloysius raises one brow at Arabella, tilting his head to their own table and its empty bottles.</p><p>She sneers at him and prods Clayton sharply in the shoulder. He rolls his eyes and gets up, holding out an elbow, steering them between tables to the bar, nodding at Dan as he reaches under the counter.</p><p>Arabella hands him one of the bottles and tucks her arm back into his, nudging him with her hip so that they will pass by the table of their quarry. </p><p>Giggling as they near the table, Arabella stumbles into him a little, making him stagger, and he huffs at her heavy handed deception. But it allows him to look at what they have on the table, catching himself awkwardly against the one empty chair as Arabella laughs into his chest.</p><p>Mrs. Clay laughs, and Caleb ducks his head to his journal, fingertips stained with ink, one searing blue eye catching his gaze between strands of red hair. He nods back, frowning down at Arabella as if in annoyance before tugging her back up to her feet and herding her back towards their own table. </p><p>He can feel eyes on his back the entire trip.</p><p>Miriam has already pulled a chair out for Arabella, and he makes a show of getting her settled, her giggling masking his voice as he bends over. “Drawn map of the town in a journal, detailed map of the surrounding area, looks like it was bought or something. List of folks in town in the other journal.”</p><p>Their little group thinks that over. </p><p>“Well,” Miriam pats Arabella’s shoulder, “at least we have confirmation that the three groups know each other. And we know that they’re looking for something.”</p><p>Nodding, Aloysius leans forward and pops open one of the bottles. “Just have to find out what.”</p><p>“It might be best if we are cautious in our approach. That group is hiding something.” Clayton can feel his attention snap to Matthew, for all that he lazily turns his head to look at the man. Tension settles over their table.</p><p>Arabella giggles again. “Lots of people who come here are hiding things.”</p><p>Matthew hums, nodding his head, elbows on his knees where he sits, and gazes down at his clasped hands, “Not like this.”</p><p>Clayton shares a look with Aloysius over the table, and he can see Miriam holding back the frown she so dearly wishes to show in the curl of her lip. Arabella just blinks at Matthew as he stands, and pushes his chair in.</p><p>He smiles at them, “I had best be off for today.” One hand pats the back of the chair, and they watch him leave the saloon.</p><p>A snort draws their attention back from the door, and Aloysius grins at them over his glass, his eyes flashing lightning blue for a split second before returning to normal. “Looks like shit just got interesting again.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Curious</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Miriam is walking down the street on another chilly morning when she catches a glimpse of swirling skirts next to a stoic behemoth in the crowd.</p><p>Mrs. Clay skips next to her tall friend, clutching at one arm as she points at the buildings around them. </p><p>The tall woman nods in apparent agreement, the sun glaring harshly across hair of near white much like a coating of fresh snow, and says something in a low voice to her companion that sets her off giggling again.</p><p>A sharp tug to her friends arm has the two of them approaching the steps to the Bella Union. Miriam has a moment of wondering what on earth a married woman would have to do in there, but at the very least she has an escort with her.</p><p>She forgets about it until later that night.</p><p>As has become habit of late, everyone has gathered in the house that she procured, and warmth fills the rooms.</p><p>She smiles at the laughter and groaning filtering into the kitchen, nudging Clayton out of the doorway to poke her head into the living room, and has to smother a laugh at the sight of Arabella shaking one fist at a laughing Matthew. Aloysius has seen fit to reacquaint himself with the floor, where he lays wheezing and red-faced.</p><p>After dinner has been eaten and dishes have been washed, everyone gathers again into the living room, glasses of whiskey in hand and the fireplace blazing.</p><p>Eventually, the conversation begins to lean towards the new group in town.</p><p>“Ms. Lionett gave me such a stink eye today when I passed her on my errands,” Arabella moans from her lazy sprawl on one of the couches. “All I did was look at her jacket because I liked the color!”</p><p>Matthew hums, rubbing a thumb against the edge of his glass. “Maybe she was still sour over you peering at their work in the saloon.”</p><p>A faint snort to her left has Miriam glancing at Clayton. </p><p>He nods at Arabella and says, “I got the same look from that one, and that was when she was with one of their little troupe. She’s usually more restrained in their company.”</p><p>“Well,” pulling her legs up onto the couch, Miriam settles into a more comfortable position, “so far the rest of them have been polite, if wary.”</p><p>“Finally got a sighting of the big one though. She’s been hiding since they all arrived here.”</p><p>Arabella cocks an eyebrow towards Aloysius, “Oh? Do tell, Aly.”</p><p>Huffing a laugh out, Aly nods his head in Miriam’s direction. “Annabelle told me that her and Mrs. Clay took a visit to the Bella Union today.” At the looks on their faces he laughs again. “Yeah. Apparently Mrs. Clay wanted to get to know the girls, see if they were being treated right. And from what Annabelle didn’t say, is that they had a grand old time sharing trade secrets.” He tips his glass with a wink.</p><p>“I did see those two heading in that direction early this morning, but to be frank, it had all but disappeared from my mind. Did Annabelle say anything else about Mrs. Clay’s companion?” </p><p>Aly sighs, tilting his head back to think. “The big woman -- Yasha, was her name I think -- was mostly quiet in their visit. Nothing else really came up.”</p><p>“Nothing about any weapons, just her name?” Clayton frowns across the table at Aly. “You’d think that a visit of a few hours would get more than that.”</p><p>“Alright then, next time you’re more than free to go ask the giant woman if she’s carryin’ any weapons, and see how well that turns out for you, Sharpe.” Glaring at Clayton, Aly tosses back the rest of his drink before settling back into his chair with a challenging smirk on his face.</p><p>Miriam sighs at their antics, “Now boys, none of that. It was a valid question, Aly, especially considering how Miss Yasha is the one we know next to nothing about. If they’re gonna make trouble I’d certainly like to know what she’s keeping in her skirts.”</p><p>Delicately, Matthew sniffs his glass, a glint in his eye that has only caused trouble in their group, and he says with a wink in her direction, “What’s the chance that she’s hiding some nitro up there, Miriam?”</p><p>“You should know better than anyone here, reverend, that a lady must always be prepared.” </p><p>Laughter fills the room, and soon enough they start making their ways back to their own homes. She allows Aloysius to plant a kiss on her cheek that Matthew quickly copies, shooing them out her front door with a smile. Clayton tips his hat in her direction and Arabella draws her into a quick but firm hug before clutching at Clayton’s elbow.</p><p>The two of them start down the road towards the Whitlock residence, and Miriam turns back inside. A wash of cold air follows her back inside. The lock settles with a resounding click, the fire crackling across from her.</p><p>Curling back up on the couch, Miriam lets the sound of the fire lull her into sleep.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Stone</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Rumors spread quickly in a town like Deadwood.</p>
<p>Franklin Stone is a polite, charming man, who is attractive enough to garner the attention of both the women <em>and</em> the men in town who are so inclined. He walks with confidence in the thoroughfare, nodding to those who make eye contact with him, occasionally throwing out a wink or two and a sly smirk. Unlike some of the other folk who have wandered through, he almost never sets his hand near his gun, instead leaving his hands hanging free or tucked into pockets.</p>
<p>Men like Franklin make people who live in Deadwood nervous.</p>
<p>Aloysius is sitting at their corner table with Clayton on a particularly rainy day, casually flipping cards onto their table when Franklin walks into the saloon.</p>
<p>The man shakes water out of his hair (people had whispered about what had caused the streak of silver in his otherwise pitch dark hair), missing his hat, and settles himself at another table with a drink. </p>
<p>Given the weather, the saloon is particularly full, with nothing else much to do when it decides to rain like this. Every now and then thunder rattles the windows and walls, glassware clinking before everything settles back into the white noise of the falling rain.</p>
<p>Not far behind Franklin, Ms. Lionett slams her way into the saloon, and stomps over to Franklin’s table. Everyone watches as she throws herself into a chair next to him, plucks the glass he had raised to his lips, and drinks the entire thing before handing him the empty glass back.</p>
<p>Franklin only sighs as she smirks next to him, and leans forward to refill his glass.</p>
<p>Clayton shares a look with Aloysius and they return to their game.</p>
<p>Several people filter in and out of the saloon as the storm rages on outside, and the chatter is warm against the chill wind.</p>
<p>All of that is broken by the sound of shattering glass and an outraged shout.</p>
<p>Clayton looks up, and is unsurprised to see a man towering over the table of Franklin and Ms. Lionett, his companions slowly rising from their own table to join their leader.</p>
<p>A snort to his side drags his attention away from the confrontation for a moment, and meets Aloysius’s gaze. “Landon chose the wrong day for this shit.” At his nod, Clayton returns his attention to the men on the other side of the saloon.</p>
<p>For all the men currently bristling around him and his friend, Franklin merely smiles at them all, and sets his glass down. Ms. Lionett picks it up and smirks, crossing one leg over the other and tilting her chair back onto its back legs.</p>
<p>“Now listen here, you fucking ratbag,” Landon sets his hands on his hips and glares down at Franklin, “I don’t take kindly to other men making eyes like that at my woman, so you and me are gonna have a little talk about that.”</p>
<p>The smooth drawl that comes from Franklin surprises him, and he sees Ms. Lionett roll her eyes, “Well now, I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talkin’ about--”</p>
<p>Slamming a hand against the table, Landon leans down and growls, “You know exactly what I’m fucking talking about.”</p>
<p>Those gold eyes trail down Landon before flashing back up, and Franklin smiles. “If you wish to talk, then we can certainly do that with no conflict between us. I believe there may have been a misunderstanding, is all.”</p>
<p>Landon snarls and straightens, one hand settling on the butt of his pistol, and the entire saloon tenses.</p>
<p>“I ain’t interested in fucking talking.”</p>
<p>The hairs at the back of Clayton’s neck raise at the cold look that settles on Franklin’s face. He shifts, as if to stand up, and Landon <em>moves</em>.</p>
<p>Everyone watching this confrontation stares as Franklin shakes his head in disappointment, his hand clenched around Landon’s pistol, thumb blocking the hammer, and he sighs. Franklin stands and Landon’s gang skitter back at the look he gives them, before turning his attention to the man in front of him. </p>
<p>“Now then,” voice quiet, but intense, Franklin leans in until his face is close to Landon’s. “That was very rude of you. If you had been a bit more polite, then maybe we wouldn’t be havin’ this problem in front of all these fine folks. I would appreciate an apology.”</p>
<p>Landon splutters. “What are you talking about? I’m not gonna fucking apologize! Let go of me!”</p>
<p>Tutting, Franklin shakes his head, eyes cold, “And I ain’t gonna let you just shoot me the moment I do. It’ll be less painful if you would be kind enough to let go of your gun, now.”</p>
<p>Clayton doesn’t have the right angle to see what happens next, but Aloysius winces at whatever Landon does. The corresponding meaty snap and shriek that fill the saloon answers that quickly enough. </p>
<p>Metal tinkles onto the ground in a loud rainfall over the sound of pained sobbing. Dropping the now empty gun onto their table with a heavy thud, Franklin sits back down and takes the glass Ms. Lionett hands to him, ignoring the screaming from Landon and the shocked audience in the room. He looks at Landon and sneers, “Might wanna find a doctor for that, you’ve got some real bad swellin’ in those joints.”</p>
<p>Two of Landon’s group grab him and pull him out the door, the rest milling around in confusion before they catch Franklin’s glare as well and follow the others out the front. Once they leave, Franklin nods at those in the saloon, and returns to his previous conversation with Ms. Lionett. </p>
<p>Aloysius slaps a card down on the table, winking at Clayton as thunder rattles the building once more.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Dirt</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Closing his book, Reverend Mason nods at the gravedigger, making the cross in the air as dirt falls with heavy thumps onto the thin wood of the coffin.</p><p>He turns, intending to head back to the church when movement down the path catches his eye.</p><p>The towering form of Mr. Clay is making his way up the path towards the graveyard, the evening fog swirling around his boots as he walks. A low rumbling reaches Matthew’s ears, and he realizes that Mr. Clay is humming. It’s no tune that he recognizes, but it tickles at the base of his skull uncomfortably.</p><p>Matthew starts his own way to the front of the cemetery, dirt still falling behind him. </p><p>“Ah, Reverend, hello.” Mr. Clay smiles down at him easily and tucks his hands into his coat pockets.</p><p>“Good evening, Mr. Clay.” Keeping his face open in the hopes of hiding the growing tension in his shoulders, Matthew allows his lips to curve in response. “Were you looking for something?”</p><p>Tearing his eyes away from the headstones behind him with a hum, Mr. Clay answers, “Nothing specific really. Heard in town that this was where the cemetery was and wanted to take a quick look is all.”</p><p>“Ah.” He can feel the smile freeze on his face as Mr. Clay steps past him into the graveyard.</p><p>Warily, he follows the man as he moves between headstones, a placid smile on his face and one hand running over worn stone and wet wood. Matthew keeps an eye on the fog.</p><p>After several minutes of silence as they wander, and after the gravedigger has departed, Mr. Clay speaks.</p><p>“Large burial grounds, for a town of this size, Reverend.” Voice low, Mr. Clay reads the name of the cross in front of him before patting it like a benediction and moving onto the next one. He finds himself being drawn after the man, much like a cloth in a breeze, and Matthew’s skin prickles.</p><p>“There is a certain sort of folk, uh, that get drawn to towns like Deadwood, Mr. Clay.”</p><p>Pale eyes meet his, and for a moment (just a moment but even that is too much), Matthew feels as if the Dealer is laughing over his shoulder again. The moment passes when that tolerant smile blooms again, but the reminder hovers over him.</p><p>Mr. Clay hums in agreement. “That it does. And how deep do you have to bury the bodies here in Deadwood?”</p><p>Matthew shivers against the chill of the evening air, reeling in the wash of conversation before a bolt of shock runs through him, and against his will his head snaps up towards Mr. Clay. </p><p>He frowns, “Now I’m sure I don’t know what you’re gettin’ at here, we bury our folk just the same as anyone else.”</p><p>One slender hand raised in an attempt to calm, Mr. Clay looks out over the sprawl that is the graveyard, nostrils flaring as he breathes deeply. Matthew knows all too well how the sticky sweet scent of rot melds with freshly turned earth in sections of the graveyard where the crosses have rotted away to stumps.</p><p>Another knowing look is thrown his way. “I’m sure that you do, Reverend. And regardless of whatever rumors spring from this well, know that my family is solely made up of undertakers. We are well aware of what the dead can get up to when no one is looking.”</p><p>Once again, Matthew is thrown by that voice laying out truth like a mason laying out stones. Mr. Clay takes his silence in stride, merely nodding, head turning to catch the faint sound of small footsteps further into the graveyard. The man smiles again, skin wrinkling around his eyes as he steps around to one of the older headstones and stoops down, leaving Matthew standing toward the front of the row.</p><p>He shakes himself out of his stupor just in time to catch the quiet wail of a plaintive meow. Frowning, he watches as Mr. Clay reaches out and stands, holding an orange cat in his arms, heedless of the mud being splattered over his vest.</p><p>The cat pushes its head against Mr. Clay’s chin, purrs loud in the quiet air, and Mr. Clay chuckles as the cat nips at his shirt collar.</p><p>A heavy drop splashes across his head, and Matthew jumps, looking up just in time to see a flicker of lightning in the dark clouds overhead. The cat meows, as if in disapproval of the weather, and Mr. Clay tuts before tucking it inside his coat.</p><p>The man dips a half bow towards him with a murmured, “Reverend,” and starts to make his way towards town as the rain begins to fall harder. He disappears around the bend, leaving Matthew staring after him. It takes him far too long to realize that it wasn’t warm enough for the rain to start steaming at the ground.</p><p>It takes him even longer to wonder where a cat that healthy had come from, when he knows that anything smaller than a ‘yote never lives long in the area surrounding Deadwood.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Settle</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It is when the rest of them are out of town, dealing with some trouble a few days over for Swearengen, that folks start turning up with their guts clawed out in the streets of Deadwood.</p><p>A rush telegram catches Miriam as she passes town hall, and she reads it over before bolting to the hotel the others are staying at.</p><p>“It’ll take us two days constant riding to get back. Three if we rest.”</p><p>Arabella frowns, straightening the crumpled telegram, her movements sharp, “People will be dead either way.”</p><p>Clayton rolls his eyes. </p><p>“All we have left to do is leave our own message with the sheriff, and then we can head out.” Matthew smiles at them all. “Shouldn’t take too long.”</p><p>They are all on the road by the time the sun has had a chance to rise.</p><p>The sheriff had thanked them for the information, a faint grimace on his own face when he saw the tension crackling throughout their small group. He had nodded at their simple explanation of more trouble and left them to it.</p><p>Two and a half days later, they arrive at Deadwood in the middle of the afternoon.</p><p>Sections of hard packed dirt are dark in color, and everyone walking around avoids those areas. Several buildings still have boards covering the windows. Miriam heads off to the Bella Union, Aloysius on her heels. Matthew looks apologetically at Clayton and Arabella.</p><p>“I should go check on the church.”</p><p>They nod him off, and make their own way to the saloon for information.</p><p>The door to Swearengen’s office is closed. Muffled voices can be heard, but just barely, and not clear enough to make out words over the hushed roar of the crowd in the saloon.</p><p>Clayton and Arabella head to the bar. Dan nods at them where he is pouring a drink for a fellow, motioning at them to wait a moment. Clayton turns to face the room, and leans back against the bar, eyeing everyone in the room.</p><p>The overall atmosphere is cheerful, almost celebratory. But. One man is sitting stiffly if happily in a seat with his wife next to him, a white strip of bandage peeking over his shirt collar. Another two tables over is pale in the face, hand shaking as he brings a glass to his lips, more bandages visible at his throat and hands, a makeshift crutch leaning against the table next to him.</p><p>Frowning, Clayton turns around just as Dan steps up to them.</p><p>Catching his look, Dan nods, “Had a spot of trouble while y’all were out. Figured it was something more for you lot to handle than the sheriff to be frank.”</p><p>Arabella raises one neat eyebrow. “And what, exactly, happened?”</p><p>“Well,” Dan leans heavily against the bar, shaking his head and blowing out a breath, “somethin’ decided that the folks ‘round here must taste pretty nice. Cleared out one of the camps to the west and scared the rest shitless. Wasn’t that much of an issue til people started showing up in the street clawed to death. Figured it had been wolves before, y’know? This weren’t wolves. Paws were too big.”</p><p>Someone laughs in the room behind them, and the music at the cranky old piano is drowned out over the cacophony of shouting.</p><p>“Did anyone get a good look at the creature? Any personal sightings?” Arabella has that look on her face that Clayton knows to stay away from, particularly when they’ve been arguing about something or other in her books.</p><p>Dan points over her shoulder to the two bandaged men in the room, “Those two survived, but just barely, and they ain’t keen on sharing. No one else survived to be able to give sightings. And no one was particularly curious enough to go peering out their windows when it dragged the first unlucky fucks out of their house in the middle of the night. I tell you that’ll be given’ me nightmares for a time.”</p><p>“Has it been dealt with? Or do we need to go hunting?”</p><p>He shakes his head again, tipping it towards the closed door upstairs. “Nah, it’s been settled real nice. Turns out those shifty folk hanging ‘bout are slick with their guns. Overheard one of them talkin’ about how they had seen something like this before.” The door upstairs snicks open and Dan pats a hand against the bar. “But we’ll know for certain if tonight passes clear.”</p><p>Caleb steps out the door, head turned back to the office, and he says something before Franklin herds him the rest of the way out. Laughter from the room filters down to them, and Clayton watches as one of Dan’s eyebrows ticks up. Franklin flicks a finger against the brim of his hat as Ms. Lionett shoves him out of the way and loops an arm around Caleb’s neck, dragging him towards the stairs. The three of them make their way to the floor, and Ms. Lionett steers Caleb to the front door. Before they can make their way out the building the man with the crutch catches their attention. Whatever he says to them is enough for them to join him at his table.</p><p>Soft steps beside him drag his attention back to the man who has leaned against the bar to his side.</p><p>Before he can even open his mouth to speak, Dan has pushed a filled shot glass in front of Franklin. The man smiles, and drinks.</p><p>“Much obliged.” Voice rough with the burn of alcohol, Franklin sniffs once and winks at Dan. He can see from the corner of his eye Arabella raising a hand to her mouth to hide her smile as Dan fucking <em>blushes</em>.</p><p>Coughing, Dan clears his throat and nods his head at Franklin, “S’all settled then?”</p><p>Franklin grins, settling himself more comfortably against the bar, crossing his arms before answering. “Yeah, it’s all settled.”</p><p>Clearly unable to restrain herself any longer, Arabella pops her head out from around Clayton. Gold flicks to her, and muscle shifts under fabric, but no hand drops to his waist. “So what was it then?”</p><p>“Well, it ain’t that uncommon for,” eyes narrowing in mirth, Franklin smirks, “ahem, <em>bears</em>, to be hungry enough to attack people. Seen it before up north.”</p><p>Clayton snorts, drawing those strange eyes to him, and he waves at Dan to get him a drink, “Bears, yeah. Vicious when provoked.”</p><p>“Indeed.” </p><p>Silence settles over the group and Dan moves to the other end of the bar to deal with more thirsty people. Clayton watches Arabella watch Franklin swirl the glass Dan had left him. She raises one brow at him in question and he shrugs.</p><p>“You’ve had experience before then, in dealing with bears?”</p><p>Franklin hums at her question, and brings his glass to his lips, taking a careful sip. He swallows, head tilting towards her and says, “Had to put down more than one bear before coming here. Certainly had to put down bigger.”</p><p>“Oh. How interesting.” She hides her suspicion behind a smile, all sharp teeth and pointed looks. “Hopefully none in your party was too badly injured?”</p><p>He tosses back the rest of his drink, and shifts away from the bar. Clayton almost misses the look of discomfort on his face, it disappears so quickly, but Franklin sighs like he wants to grunt, and he settles his weight onto one leg. When the man twists to put his glass on the counter, the fabric of his shirt sticks and pulls just enough for him to see the outline of bandages wrapping around his ribs and one shoulder.</p><p>“No more than a few scratches, miss.” He nods at the both of them. “Now then, if you’ll ‘scuse me.”</p><p>Arabella presses tight against his shoulder as they watch him make his careful way over to the table holding his friends, feet steady, but each step is placed deliberately, and with intent. It would be easy to see a man like that after dealing with what they did and see a hunter walking with a lazy grace. It’s easier for Clayton to see the graceful movements of the injured, and those used to moving while in pain.</p><p>As Ms. Lionett jeers at Franklin from the table, Caleb shaking his head next to her, Clayton just manages to catch a glimpse of a matching bandage on her collarbone.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hey guys, just wanted to thank you all for your support so far, I really appreciate it. School's picking up for me, so updates will probably be a lot slower from now on but I don't have any plans on abandoning this story.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Kindness</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The next few weeks pass in a cold haze of winter winds and frequent snowstorms.</p><p>Now that the group of strangers have shown to Deadwood that they are willing to protect this little town, everyone begins to accept them.</p><p>Yasha and Mrs. Clay’s visit to the Bella Union becomes commonplace, and no one bats an eye when the two make their way to chat with the other girls. Sometimes one of the others will accompany them as well. A few strange looks are shot their way on the days that Mr. Clay goes with them, but most just shrug it off. If a married couple wants to do what they want together, then so be it.</p><p>Ms. Lionett and Franklin are another frequent pairing around town. Those two are usually the ones to hang around in the bar, talking with the miners after their shifts, and playing several rounds of cards. Occasionally they can be convinced to join in a game of drinks. The only one happy after those nights is Dan, seeing as he is the only one who can walk in a straight line afterwards. And very rarely, Franklin will coax Ms. Lionett to join him with a drink or two at a table with Alyosius and Clayton. Franklin is always the one who carries the conversation, not seeming to care at how little Clayton answers him as Alyosius and Ms. Lionett trade pointed barbs with bared teeth too sharp to be called smiles. But mostly, those nights pass in silence but for the noise around them, and the sound of their glasses being placed on the table.</p><p>Sundays are when the majority of the group appear in one place. Perhaps a touch unsettling for the Reverend, but the morning sermon is when almost all of this group show up. The Clays sit on one pew, with Yasha quiet beside them. Franklin and Ms. Lionett seem to have a rotating schedule as to when either of them will show up. Caleb never shows up at all.</p><p>Miriam watches with keen eyes one day, as Caleb appears from the hotel with Yasha beside him, and as they walk towards the outskirts of town together. It has been noted throughout town that those two are the quietest of the group, with debates occurring as to which one is most shy. She always hums when asked what she thinks, and demurs an answer before departing. From what she has heard from the other girls, Yasha is quiet, introspective, and polite to all of them. Very few in town have actually been able to hold a conversation with Caleb, as he never travels alone. One or more of the others is always with him, most typically in the form of Ms. Lionett or Franklin, warding off the townsfolk subtly, but doing it nonetheless. Several minutes after Miriam watches the two of them disappear around the last building, she nods to herself in quiet thought, and goes to find Arabella.</p><p>It takes several days before Arabella is able to chat with Caleb, and it takes a certain amount of manipulation from the others to get him alone.</p><p>A joint job taken by Aly, Clayton, Franklin, and Ms. Lionett get his most avid protectors out of town for several days. Miriam and Matthew take on corralling the Clays and Yasha in the Bella Union with a vicious game of cards amongst everyone.</p><p>Arabella hurries down the path to the cemetery, bundled up against the chill breeze, staring down at the ground to avoid ice patches as she makes her way past gravestones and withered crosses to the back corner. Ducking under the fence, she glances behind her to check that Caleb is not on his way yet, and nods in satisfaction when he is yet to appear.</p><p>After a certain amount of spying from one Clayton Sharpe, they know that Caleb frequently takes walks in the woods along this back path. Usually Yasha will accompany him, but sometimes, he will depart alone in the middle of the night. From what Clayton told them all, they don’t do anything except to walk around. They don’t even talk to each other. Strange, but perhaps not the strangest thing to come from this group.</p><p>The woods around her are quiet. Halfway to the spot that Clayton had mentioned and snow begins to fall through the trees. Cursing, Arabella throws any prayer out that Caleb will actually go on his walk tonight, or else she will be out freezing for nothing.</p><p>It’s easy enough to find the fallen tree Clayton described, just off the main path, with barely any brush to kick out of her way. She plops down onto the slightly damp wood with a huff and settles in to prepare. Perhaps a half hour goes by that she spends sniffling to herself in the cold, wringing a handkerchief around her fingers, and watching the snow settle in a blanket around her before the sound of footsteps crunching behind her warn her of someone approaching.</p><p>She sniffles again, allowing herself one gleeful grin as the footsteps falter at the sight of her back from the path. Arabella presses the kerchief to her face and lets out a hiccup that echoes loudly in the surrounding forest.</p><p>Several moments pass and she grits her teeth, praying that he takes the bait.</p><p>“Um, are you alright?” Quietly enough that she would not have startled even if she weren’t expecting it, Caleb’s voice reaches her ears and she lets out a gasp, whirling around and clutching her hands to her chest.</p><p>Standing in the middle of the path, snow slowly melting in his hair, Caleb stands with a slight frown and look of concern on his face, hands out to show her they are empty.</p><p>She gives him a watery smile. “Ah, why yes, I’m quite fine thank you for asking. I was unaware that anyone used these paths anymore.”</p><p>“I have only just recently found these paths.” One dark eyebrow raises as he frowns down at her and takes a step off the path warily. “Are you sure you are alright?”</p><p>“Yes!” They both jump as her voice echoes in the woods, startling a bird in the undergrowth into flight. Once silence settles again, she swallows against the lump in her throat and looks down at her lap, fidgeting with the handkerchief. “Yes, I just wanted to be alone for a while.”</p><p>From under her lashes, she can see as he shifts, unsure of himself finding a crying woman alone in the middle of the woods. Letting the tears in her eyes gather, Arabella blinks hard enough that they begin to fall, dripping slowly down her nose in a path that chills her to the bone. She gasps again and ducks her head further down, shoulders shaking.</p><p>Footsteps approach her, and a wash of heat runs over her front. Through her tears, she can just make out Caleb as he crouches in front of her and rummages through his coat, looking for something. She lets another sob shake her.</p><p>Gentle hands tug at her own, pulling them apart just enough to remove her soaked and frozen handkerchief and to replace it with one warm with body heat.</p><p>At that act of kindness, Arabella goes in for broke and crumples forward with a loud sob into that warmth. She feels more than hears his breath catch as she clings to his shirt and shoves her face into his chest, tears streaming down her face. Slowly, arms close around her, and one hand rests gently on the back of her head, the other proprietarily around her back and she finds herself cradled gently against him as she cries.</p><p>Emotions roil inside her chest. She had originally intended to appear to be at the end of a previous session of sorrow at the time Caleb made his way down the path, but it appears her mind had other ideas.</p><p>Her grief ebbs and flows now that she has allowed the dam to break. Feelings she had locked away in denial and pain from before now come pouring out and through it all, Caleb is a steady warm presence.</p><p>Eventually, her tears run dry, and she is left limp in his grasp as she hiccups against his chest.</p><p>Knees and ankles numb with cold, Arabella pushes back from Caleb, hissing at the slap of wind to her wet face as she leaves their little pocket of warmth.</p><p>“I apologize, I don’t know what came over me.” If she wasn’t flushed with the cold, she would blush at how rough her voice is and reaches up to wipe at her face.</p><p>Hands once again come up to grasp gently at hers, and she looks up to meet an unexpectedly kind gaze. “You have no reason to apologize for that.”</p><p>“Oh.” Arabella ducks her head from that look and sniffs once more. “Thank you.”</p><p>It is then that she notices how dark it has gotten around them and she jerks upright in surprise. “Oh shoot, I hadn’t realized how late it was, I really need to be going, Mr. Whitlock will be wondering where I am, I -”</p><p>Hands reach out and grip her elbows, searing heat that travels through the fabric of her coat making her shiver as Caleb draws her to her feet. For a moment, they stand there in the woods, snow falling around them with a faint hissing, moonlight peaking through the trees around them enough to faintly light their surroundings. He smiles at her.</p><p>“Would you, ah, would you like me to walk you back?”</p><p>She smiles back and wraps a hand around his wrist to tug him towards the path. “Yes, I would, actually.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I want you all to know that while I may not reply to every comment, I read every single one of them. I appreciate it so much you guys &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Touch</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Miriam blinks.</p>
<p>The others are silent in their shock as well as Arabella resolutely shuffles through the books she has hidden away on Miriam’s shelves, a blush high on her cheeks.</p>
<p>Matthew is open mouthed, staring at Arabella, blinking furiously at the revelation she threw at them. Miriam has to bite back a smirk at the look on his face and turns her attention to Clayton and Aly.</p>
<p>Frozen with a drink halfway to his lips, Clayton appears much the same as if he had walked straight into a wall unexpectedly. He frowns, taking a breath as if to speak, before letting it out in a huff. Arabella rolls her eyes as he does this several more times.</p>
<p>Aly breaks the silence. </p>
<p>“That’s it?”</p>
<p>Smiling at him, Arabella nods, “What, as if it would be difficult?”</p>
<p>She laughs outright at his spluttering, patting the stack of books with a hand and settling down on the couch next to Miriam.</p>
<p>Miriam decides to take pity on the men and slides a glance at a smug Arabella. “Now, no need to tease them anymore. How were they supposed to know that a good damsel in distress would open up any man to conversation.”</p>
<p>A choked cough escapes Matthew, and Miriam looks over to see him blushing furiously, just as Aly starts roaring with laughter. </p>
<p>The outburst seems to break Clayton out of his shock as he slowly puts his glass back on the table. Shaking his head, he bends over to rest his face in his hands.</p>
<p>Soon, all of them are laughing, the sound drowning out the wind howling outside.</p>
<p>Giggling, Arabella covers her mouth with her hand, flapping the other at Miriam. She catches it with a smile.</p>
<p>“Is there anything else you have to tell us, besides the fact that you now have study dates with Caleb?”</p>
<p>Arabella barks out another laugh before nodding. “Yes, I do.” She pauses, leaning back against the couch, tightening her grip on Miriam’s hand.</p>
<p>“Well? Out with it then.” Clayton chuffs out a laugh at Aly’s demand, skin wrinkling around his eyes in a way that makes Miriam happy to see. She knows that Matthew is thinking the same thing, if his fond look towards Clayton is any sign.</p>
<p>“Alright, I have confirmation that Caleb at the very least, carries no weapons of any sort on him.” <br/>Shocked silence falls over the group once again.</p>
<p>“Excuse me?” There is a dangerous glint in Clayton’s eyes at that.</p>
<p>Arabella shrugs. “No weapons that I could feel.” She slides her hand free to hold it up and tick off on her fingers, “No knives, no guns, no nitro, no dusters. The only thing that he carries on his person are some books and a pack of tobacco.”</p>
<p>“Huh.” Aly hums. “That’s certainly strange, especially given what Clayton and myself saw from Ms. Lionett and Franklin earlier.”</p>
<p>Leaning forward, Matthew drums his fingers on the table in front of him, “What did they have? We know Franklin has his pistol, but what about Ms. Lionett?”</p>
<p>“Franklin has his pistol, aye. Ms. Lionett on the other hand…”</p>
<p>“Oh, for Pete’s sake, Aly.” Clayton rolls his eyes at Aly’s dramatics and holds his fists in front of his face like he is in a fight. “That Ms. Lionett? She’s a hard punching brawler. We watched her punch a mouthful of teeth out of one man before slinging a knife through the eye of another fifty paces away in the same motion. She doesn’t even need the knives to be frank.”</p>
<p>Aly nods his head. “And that Franklin is a crack shot with his pistol as well. Certainly had a better day than I did.”</p>
<p>Matthew drifts back into his chair, rubbing a knuckle against his jaw and frowning.</p>
<p>“So we have a few confirmed hard hitters for this group then. And nothing else about the others?” Miriam asks. </p>
<p>Everyone shakes their heads in the negative. </p>
<p>“Well,” she says, “then we just have to be a bit more involved in finding out what the others can do.”</p>
<p>The night passes quietly, and the all too familiar crack of gunshots echoes through the morning sun, shouts following before everything settles once again.</p>
<p>That indicates the excitement for the rest of the day, as several folks decide it is high time to have violent arguments in the streets in a rolling schedule of lead and blood.</p>
<p>Clayton keeps well away from that mess, instead heading to the outskirts of town on his own.</p>
<p>He lazily makes his way through the back alleys, grateful for his thick coat against the biting chill of the wind that tunnels between wooden buildings. Eventually he finds himself hunkered down behind the stable shed, listening to the shifting bodies and snorts of the horses within, protected from the wind for the moment.</p>
<p>Moonlight streams down across the snow covered field in a glittering wave of light. The dull silence of the night is only broken by the occasional gunshot. They seem further away than they actually are, as the snow and darkness swallow up the sounds, softening their sharp edges until it all seems dreamlike. Clayton fights off a shiver at that, and shakes himself until everything seems a bit more real.</p>
<p>At some point, an orange cat peeks out from behind a tree across the field. He watches as it slowly creeps from the edge of the woods to the fence, leaping up to sit on top of one of the heavy posts and settling down to groom itself.</p>
<p>Another gunshot and yelling has the cat freezing, before it swivels its attention towards him.</p>
<p>Ears flicking between the noise in town and whatever it can hear in the woods behind it, it apparently makes a decision as it stands and begins to make its way in his direction along the top of the fence.</p>
<p>A thick bottlebrush of a tail waving lazily behind it, the cat meows softly at him once it has come closer to the stable, slowing as it stares at him with brilliant blue eyes. They watch each other for a moment, snow still around them. Calmly, Clayton pulls off a glove and holds out the back of his hand. The cat leans forward and delicately sniffs at him, whiskers tickling his skin enough that he has to hold back a twitch.</p>
<p>With an apparently satisfied meow, the cat butts its head against his hand, demanding scratches from him.</p>
<p>He chuckles and settles more comfortably against the fence, running a hand down the length of the cat’s body. It does not take long for the cat to fill their little space with a rumbling purr that is surprisingly loud in the frigid night air. </p>
<p>When the cat shoves itself to stand precariously on the fence in front of him to rub itself against his chin, Clayton huffs and leans back to a plaintive mewl. “Hope you don’t have any fleas on you, kitten.”</p>
<p>At that, the cat gives him a surprisingly dirty look before nipping at his scarf and shoving its head against his chest.</p>
<p>Giving in, Clayton rolls his eyes and resumes petting the cat, making a note to himself to check for fleas in the next few days. He counts the time that passes in the gunshots that crack off in the distance, kept company by the cat. </p>
<p>He sighs and watches his breath fog in the air in front of his face. Cold even with thick fur to dig his hands into, Clayton looks down at the cat currently curled up on the fence against his chest, held by one of his arms as he pets it with the other.</p>
<p>He gives it a gentle poke between the eyes, stroking the soft fur as it blinks its eyes shut and rumbles out another stuttering purr. “I need to go get warm again, kitten.”</p>
<p>The cat opens its eyes and lets out an angry <em>mrrp</em> as he begins to shift away from the fence, settling the cat onto its own legs. </p>
<p>“I know, kitten, but not everyone has fur like you do to keep warm.” He gives it one last stroke down its back, spine arching up to meet his touch and the cat meows again, as if in farewell, before he starts to make his way back into town.</p>
<p>When he looks back, the cat is gone.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>:3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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